That Which Does Not Kill Me
by SnapeJuice
Summary: [COMPLETE!]After the death of her beloved, Hermione's life is at a standstill. A startling development that should heal her slowly becomes worrisome. Why are things not as they should be? What is his secret? Where there is love, there is hope. [COMPLETE!]
1. here comes the rain

Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize are property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, except any original characters (those that you do not recognize) and the plot. This disclaimer is implied for any subsequent chapters in this piece of fanfiction. 

"Little Jeannie, you got so much time, little Jeannie  
Though you've grown beyond your years, you still retain the fears of youth  
Oh little Jeannie, you got so much time, little Jeannie  
But you're burning it up so fast, searching for some lasting truth  
  
And I want you to be my acrobat, I want you to be my lover  
Oh there were others who would treat you cruel  
But oh Jeannie, I will always be your fool"

_            Elton John, "Little Jeannie"_

They stared at her as she passed, their heads coming together, whispering and pointing. 

Not blatantly, mind you – the wizarding world was very proud of their ability to keep a secret – but as individuals, they did not fare as well as the whole.

She could hear snippets of conversations as she tried to appear nonchalant, quietly stepping, head held high:

". . .sad thing, what happened to that girl - said she cried for a week afterward. . ."

". . .heard she miscarried the child after she got the news. Ain't nothing sadder'n a widow with no children, no connection to her husband . ."

". . .I can't imagine what it's like to be her. Said they never found a body. No closure, nothing to bury. That poor darling. . ."

". . .heard 'twas the Death Eaters that did him off. Considerin' that all of the Death Eaters were killed, I suppose we'll never know where the body is. . ."

". . .smart girl, she is, but what can she do now?. . ." 

Her bushy hair hit her face, the wind throwing it forward, at the same exact moment as the tears started to fall. She looked towards her feet as the drops flew off the top of her nose, onto her pristine black robes. 

Hermione Granger was not used to being pitied. She was used to _pitying _people, but being the object of pity? It was amazing the difference once the tides had turned. The dew fell from her eyes in a steady stream for a few moments before she wiped them away, thankful that she had not cut her hair as her husband had suggested. 

" 'Mione, love, please. If you cut that mop off, I'll get to see that beautiful face of yours more often," the love of her life had laughed, pushing her hair out of her face and kissing her softly on the mouth.  

Frustration bubbled up within her. This would be considered exceptionally uncharacteristic of her, except the whole situation thus far was aberrant and far from ideal. Her husband was dead. All of the wizarding world could not speak her name without it dripping with sympathy. 

And she was alone.

The wizarding world was a lot like the Muggle world in the fact that it savored gossip. There was nothing better than seeing anyone suffer, and Hermione was absolutely sure that no one in all of England was suffering more than her in this moment.

In this moment when she could not walk down the street without drawing attention – without drawing compassionate nods or whispered words of encouragement. 

They all knew her pain. 

They all knew the obstacles she had yet to overcome.

The death of her husband and her baby within a week.

Hermione Granger, though, was nothing, if not resilient. She would weather this storm, with her chin up and a smile plastered on her face even if the rest of her was trembling with the need to have her husband by her side, near her. Or the never ending wonder that lay deep inside at what it would have been like to have a little amalgam of her beloved and her nestled in her arms, speaking the word, "Mum," for the first time. 

Whereas most of the world would have assumed she, as the logical one in the relationship, would have been the rock, the secret was that he – _he –_ was the actual sturdy one. _She _was the one who, more often than not, got frazzled, as the momentous duties she placed upon herself towered over her. All it took was one look from him, a whisper in her hair as he held her, and she felt that she could take on the world if that's what he wanted. 

Wiping the last of the tears, a resolved mouth replacing the previously downturned one, she pushed her hair out of her face, damned the wind, and walked home, ignoring the three women speaking softly huddled together in front of The Leaky Cauldron, ignored their empathetic stares, their silent encouragement.

Ignored the words, "Poor lass," as it tumbled down their lips.

There were times when she was convinced this ache in her heart would never go away. 

There were times when she was so mournful that a scream not unlike a banshee would escape her beautiful mouth. 

There were times when she did nothing but curse her dearly departed husband for being so foolhardly, for being so damn noble, for leaving her alone. 

She scared herself when the resentment welled up (as it often did), and spouted. Hermione found herself questioning why she ever let herself fall in love with anyone – especially this husband of hers. She had put herself in peril by falling in love with him.

The simple truth of the matter was that _she_ had been daft enough to give her heart to Harry Potter, knowing full well that as long as he breathed, he would be in danger.

And when he had died, he had taken more than her heart with him; he had taken her reason to live as well. 

*****

Hermione walked briskly towards the exit of the Diagon Alley, through the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, back to the Muggle world. Back to the place where she was not _the_ Harry Potter's widow, but instead, just Harry Potter's widow. Where the Muggles held a certain awkwardness in talking to her. Where there was a comfort in knowing that here not everyone knew her husband's life story. 

She breathed deeply, taking in the busyness and anonymity often considered the signature of Muggle London. Men, women, children just _being. _Being with each other, being annoyed, being in love, being rushed. Just _being. _

And bitterness stirred within her as she questioned the gods why she couldn't just _be _with her husband or her child. 

A scene in a corner near a clothier's caught her eye. Amongst all the hustle and bustle of people walking with shoulders squared, purpose in their eyes, two twenty-somethings, a man and woman, talked quietly in front of a clothier's. She laughed softly, touching his arm, as he said something. He whispered something more, and the look on her face changed to shock, a hand flying to her mouth as he earnestly said something more. It didn't matter that Hermione was far away, it didn't matter that Hermione could not hear one thing he said to her. The looks on their faces were enough; he was telling her he loved her for the first time. The jolt faded as her face softened, and she hugged him. As she kissed his neck, she could see her mouth whisper, "I love you too," into his ear. 

Hermione Granger knew this because the first time he had said those words had occurred in a setting not unlike this. In weather not unlike this weather. In front of a shop not unlike this shop. At an age not unlike their's. 

It had been years since they had graduated from Hogwarts – almost three when they had met for what seemed like an innocent lunch. A brief game of catch-up on each other's lives before they proceeded with further down the road of unfamiliarity. The owls were continuous, but in a time when each was paving their own way in the world, sometimes they lost contact.

Harold James Potter and Hermione Berit Granger, though, as dedicated as they were, did their best to prevent this slow fractioning of the Golden Trio. When Ron had cancelled on the lunch by way of a very exhausted Errol (whom Hermione had already assumed was dead) at the last minute, Harry and Hermione had decided to meet anyway. 

And Harry had taken this opportunity to tell her of his feelings. In front of Madam Malkin's, no less, where they had spent countless moments in the summers preceding their years at Hogwarts. 

Hermione had to laugh quietly as she remembered the utter shock she had felt when he had told her of his long harbored feelings - those feelings that were "more than fleeting and _much _more than platonic." 

She only _wished _she could have reacted with as much grace as the woman she now stared at, who had tears running down her face, kissing the boy of her dreams at breakneck speed. Instead, Hermione remembered her reaction - how she had walked back a few paces, allowing the words to settle in her head before cocking an eyebrow at him and asking, "Have you been at the Weasley twins' InsanitiSerum again, Potter?" 

And the truth was that, no, he had not been chugging InsanitiSerum. And yes, he was perfectly sure of what he was saying to her. And yes, he did know the risk he was taking by telling her these feelings he had held close for so long. And yes, he would understand if she felt uncomfortable - 

He could not finish that thought, though, because in a strangely un-Hermione moment, she had taken the opportunity to shut him up. She had kissed him.

As she watched that boy and girl create an enduring love for one another, she could feel Harry's lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her waist, their heads together as they thought about might be, and what could be, and what would be. She could think of nothing but him and how they were the only two people in the world in that moment.  The extraordinary feeling of moving from something as permanent as _friendship _into the topsy-turvy world of _love _welled deep inside_._

She remembered how the circus had rolled into her mind as he kissed her for the first time. (And she laughed as she stood there in the Muggle London. A _circus? _Why _that _of all images, she questioned herself in hindsight._) _A trapeze artist must feel like this, she had thought back then, when she steps off her solid platform and grasped onto that pole, swinging higher, higher. . . staying connected to the bar because of her _own _strength, but never losing sight of that one person ahead of her with whom she would soon be connected, whose hands would be intertwined with her own as he _held _her, would do anything it took to keep her close.

Who would catch her if she fell. Would fall _with her _if it made her feel better.

Hermione caught herself staring at the couple, as a flame-haired man with a briefcase swiveled to miss bumping into her. 

She needed to stop doing this – living in the memories. She needed to move on. She needed to find closure.

To hell with that, she thought bitterly. What she really needed she would never have.

She needed her child. 

She needed Harry.

A/N This piece of fanfiction will be more character-driven than plot-driven. If high speed chases and confrontations with Voldie are what you are looking for, I do not think this is the fic for you. You have been warned.  


	2. falling down on me

"Wait on me girl  
Cry in the night if it helps  
But more than ever I simply love you  
More than I love life itself"

_            ~Elton John, "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues"_

". . .I'm worried about her, Joseph," Hermione heard her mother say as she walked in the door of their home . Her mother locked eyes with her for a second, and reddened up, ashamed at being caught talking about her daughter. Anna Granger walked to her daughter, arms opened, as she started, "Hermione-"

"It's okay, Mum," Hermione responded, a magnanimous look on her face as she avoided her mother's arms, sitting next to her father, Joseph, on the couch. "I'm worried about me as well."

"It's been two months almost, Hermione," Anna mentioned quietly. "Your father and I-" Anna made eye contact with Joseph- "believe that some counseling may benefit you in this time. . . of loss."

Hermione looked astounded. "Therapy? You want me to go see a Muggle shrink?"

Joseph put his hand comfortingly on his daughter's shoulder. "We realize that with Harry's death, the miscarriage, it's been tough for you. What we would like you to do is see a counselor – not necessarily of the 'Muggle' persuasion. A magic one would be fine too, as long as you can _talk _to someone." He paused. "Does the magic world have something equivalent to a therapist – someone who can help you with your problems?"

"Yes, Dad, they do have an equivalent to a therapist," she responded sarcastically. "It's inexpensive, dependable, and doesn't require me to lie horizontally on some couch talking about the loss of my first childhood pet. They're called Obliviators."

*****

Hermione was ashamed of herself as she walked into her Muggle apartment. She had departed from her parents' house rather huffily, not at all caring about how they felt. They had, after all, said what they believed was best for her. They _were _concerned, compared to the busybodies in the wizarding world. Well, perhaps those so-called busybodies were concerned, but they had a funny way of showing it.

She walked into her bedroom, where Harry and her had spent hours exploring each other, every crevice of one another's body, and sat on the bed. The one that Petunia Evans Dursley had shyly, secretly presented to her a few weeks before Harry and her had married, after they had purchased their Muggle sanctuary, a nondescript studio in the middle of London. 

"It's the bed I inherited from my mother. Vernon always thought it was uncomfortable – the old lump thinks anything softer than sheet rock is _too _soft – so we replaced it." A whimsical look crossed her eyes for a brief moment. "I. . . we used it for a few months after our wedding, as did Harry's grandparents before us. They used it for years. Anyway, I hope it gives you as many nights of-" her cheeks went crimson – "well, I hope it treats you as well as it treated us."

Hermione was genuinely touched, and it _was _a beautiful bed frame. Antique, walnut wood. . . classic. She couldn't speak as her eyes dewed up.

"There, there, dear," Petunia had comforted. "The gods must have blessed this bed, because it gave me and Vernon my sweet Dudders, and my parents Lily and me. . . Let's just hope that the gift giving didn't end with me."

"And it didn't end with Petunia," Hermione whispered internally, returning to reality. Her baby had been conceived in this bed, as had two generations of Potters before him (or her), she recalled, bouncing on it a little, surprised at its youthful springiness after so many years. 

The truth was that in the last two months, Hermione had taken to sleeping on the couch. She just couldn't sleep on that bed without him beside her. 

She lay down on it, her bushy hair splayed in the middle of the bed as she curled up on Harry's side of the bed, her face on Harry's pillow as she took in his scent – a mix of red pine (located conveniently in front of the Ministry) and Gilder-Odor, Harry's aftershave of choice. ("No matter that it was created by that prat Lockhart," Harry had laughed upon purchasing it the first time. He assumed a very Lockhart-esque pose, one hand firmly on hips, the other brushing non-existent bangs out of the way. "It makes me smell as pretty as I look, don't you think?") After two months, though, it was no longer there. 

The scent. It was gone. 

Hermione was alarmed. She could picture Harry lying in this very spot, next to her as she finished up the last chapter of some godforsaken book before lights out. She could hear his voice, see his tousled hair, feel his hands brush gently against her leg as he questioned whether she was ready to go to bed. She could picture him, but she couldn't remember that smell.

Her eyes darted around, alarmed. She took in a deep breath, hoping something of Harry would enter her nostrils. 

Oh, gods, she couldn't remember his scent. 

He was slipping away from her one memory at a time.

Shooting up from the bed, crying, she ran to the bathroom, releasing the mirror's clasp as the medicine cabinet flew open. She grabbed for the Gilder-Odor from the bottom tier and undid the top, nearly dropping it a number of times, taking in the comforting scent of Harry.

But it wasn't Harry. 

Gilder-Odor by itself did _not _smell like Harry.

The bottle firmly in hand she ran out her studio door. Located on the bottom floor, she exited the building swiftly and looked around fearfully. Just as she had suspected – there were no pine trees in the downtown Muggle London.

_Damn _the architects of this city for not planting pine trees. 

She needed the musk of pine needles. She needed to remember Harry's smell. Oh, gods, she needed Harry. This memory had to come back. 

Retreating back into her studio, she frantically grabbed for her wand, and shouted, "Odorous Pinus Resinosa!" as the sweet musk of the red pine escaped through the tip. She greedily spritzed some of the Gilder-Odor in the direction of the tree scent, and breathed deep.

Her heart returned to its normal beat. Her breathing became normal, patterned, even. 

_This _was the scent she wanted, she thought comfortingly. _This _was one more piece of Harry she had for the time being. 

As long as I can remember the little details, he will never be gone, were the last words to cross her mind as she fell asleep on the bed.

A/N A Chocolate Frog to anyone who can tell me why I am naming the chapters as I am before it becomes _obvious._


	3. i'm showered in pain

"It's four o'clock in the morning  
Damn it listen to me good  
I'm sleeping with myself tonight  
Saved in time, thank God my music's still alive"

_            ~Elton John, "Someone Saved My Life Tonight"_

Hermione was jerked awake by the sound of something large _thudding _as it hit her floor. Her wand firmly in hand, she jumped up and drew it before she even had time to look up and see what it was standing in front of her.

"Ron Weasley, you do _not_ Apparate into this flat without so much as an owl beforehand! You scared me half to death!" she shouted at him, stamping her foot in frustration.

"Sorry, sorry, Hermione," he apologized, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I just wanted to see you." He moved closer to her and enveloped her in a hug. "How's it going?" 

"About as well as you'd expect. . . considering the circumstances," she revealed quietly.

He reached over and wiped a tear from her eye. "It'll be fine. And I love you." He backed away from her and assumed a Sir Cadogan-like stance. "My love for you, fair maiden, is like diarrhea. I just can't keep it inside."

She laughed in the midst of a sob. "I miss him so much." She melted into him and as his arms grabbed tighter, she felt a sense of comfort for the first time in the two months since the deaths of her husband and her child. 

"I know, I know," he acknowledged, smoothing her hair down. She sniffed against his shirt. "Oh, Hermione, please don't start crying. You know how I get when you cry." His voice started wobbling as he finished. 

"You were always such a softie, Weasley," she laughed through her tears. "Harry always said you were just a big sissy. I never quite believed him. . ."

"He was my best friend, Hermione. He knew."

"Stop crying, Ron," she commanded teasingly. "That's my job."

"Trust me, Herm, since Harry died, that's been a lot of people's job. All the Hollyhocks have been passing their condolences onto me. A whole lot people cared about him." Ron was an administrator for a new minor-league Quidditch team, the Hoopington Hollyhocks. 

"It's been hard for a lot of people, but he was _my _husband. I know a lot of people have felt his loss, but sometimes I think this little fantasy I set up with him. . . It was stupidity, wasn't it?" she asked him, turning her back to him, leaving his embrace. "I had planned out our whole life." Her hands went to her midsection instinctually. "Me, Harry, the baby – the _babies_. We were going to have a _life_. That was stupid of me, wasn't it? Planning a life with Harry? Trouble followed him around like a devoted little puppy dog. I just never thought it would ever catch up. . ."

"Hermione, you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I mean, I know you're on sabbatical from Mrs. Hopkins School for Gifted Tots, but maybe you should do yourself a favor and go stay with your parents for a bit." A bitter look crossed her face momentarily, causing him to offer another suggestion. "Better yet, come to the Burrow. Mum's been clucking after me, asking how you are. You _know _she loves you to pieces, and it would be better for her, for me, for _you _to be around people who love you. . . in the wizarding world." He looked around the bedroom. "It can't be safe. You, here in the Muggle world, by yourself. I'd really like it if you came back with me."

A determined glint twinkled in her eye. "I need to stay here- by myself for awhile." Her face softened. "I don't think the Burrow would be the best place for me to stay right now, Ron. Thank you for the offer, though, Ron. I do love you for it."

A look of understanding crossed his face at her words. She had been at the Burrow when Percy had broken the news about Harry's death at the Burrow. He reverted to his previous suggestion. "Your folks' house then, Hermione? Please, go somewhere safe – with people there with you. Not here, reliving memories." 

"My last memories of Harry are here, so here is where I'll be," she answered with a hint of finality.

"He's not coming back, you know," Ron whispered. "Maybe you might do yourself a favor, sell this place, start afresh somewhere closer to the Ministry. I have no doubt that Ginny can find you a place near Ottery St. Catchpole."

She patted his hand. "Thanks, Ron, for the offer, but no, I think I need to be here for awhile. I think my husband needs me here." 

Ron look defeated. "I just popped in here on my lunch hour, so I think I am going to Apparate back to Hollyhock headquarters. The offer still stands though. Look for Mum to send you a care package in the next few days. I dunno if Errol can handle it, but we will try to have Pig assist him." He kissed her as he prepared to leave. 

"I'm fine, Ron, really. Please don't look at me as if I am the most pathetic thing in Britain at this moment. I just can't take it," she said pleadingly.

"You're not pathetic, Hermione. Just in love."

*****

The odd thing about Harry's death was that she never quite believed he was dead. In Hermione's head, she knew he was dead, but in her heart, that connection that had existed amongst the Golden Trio had never died. 

She was perhaps in denial for the first days after Percy had come to the doorstep at the Burrow and told her about it. About how all the Death Eaters had been killed – their bodies found. About how Lucius Malfoy's dying words had been about killing Harry (he had actually said "tortured Harry to death," but Percy was kind enough to gloss over that). About how nobody at Ministry Search and Rescue could find her husband's body. 

She had miscarried in that moment, she knew. They had taken her to St. Mungo's, immediately cushioning the loss by saying the baby had not died as soon as Percy had utter the words, but she would know in her heart that that child had died in utero exactly in that minute. They could tell her until the end of time that her baby had put up a good fight in her womb before letting go, but the results were still the same, weren't they? Here she was, by herself, no baby, no Harry.

There were times when she could almost _feel _him. Not tangibly, mind you. Just feel the essence of him. Hear his laugh in the laughter of a stranger in a café. See his green eyes on the man who presented the weather on Channel 4. Catch his profile out of the corner of her eye coming off the Tube, on the man who played the guitar outside the station. 

He was everywhere and nowhere at all.

She was sick of people constantly telling her to get over it. _Be_ over it. Leave it behind her. 

As if she had just stubbed her toe instead of losing her soulmate. Did they expect her to just move on? Did they just expect her to _move on? _

How do you move on where you've no idea where you're going?

She saw the pile of dishes sitting in the sink and made a move to wash them, her wand firmly in hand so they could charm them into self-cleaning.  The kitchen was so far from the living room. _Everything _was so far this apartment nowadays, she'd noticed. Was this depression, an extended period of mourning she was going through? Would she ever be over it? She was not kidding when she'd told her mother earlier in the day, "I'm worried about me as well." 

The knocking on her front door was loud and immediate. Quite frankly, she did not want to deal with any Muggle solicitors right now. And she was in no mood for sympathetic company bringing her food. 

Damn the world right now, she was not going to answer her door. She continued to whirl her wand, the soapy sponge follow its path as it scrubbed the dirty plate. 

"Hermione Granger! I know you're in there! You answer this door this _instant _before I Apparate into that flat of your's!" 

She stopped, the plate falling gently into the soapy water with the sponge as Hermione's wand fell to the floor. Walking to the door, she questioned, "Percy? _Percy? _Is that you?" 

"Yes, Hermione, now will you _please _open the door?" he asked breathlessly as she let him in. "I'm here on official Ministry business."

"What is the emergency, Perce? Why the loud voice? You could have awakened the dead with your yelling!" 

"I fear that's already been done," Percy said quietly. He walked towards the sofa. 

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Mind if I sit down? You should join me." He patted the seat next to him.

Hermione was thoroughly confused and scared. The last time Percy had showed up unexpectedly, he had broken the most horrible news in the world. If possible, he was more intense this time. What more news could he possibly break now?

"What, Percy? Do tell me."

"Search and Rescue have been trying to gather evidence against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. All the Death Eaters are dead, but he is still very much alive – alive enough to be put on trial for his offenses. Once we catch him, of course." At Hermione's befuddled expression, he painstakingly skipped many details (details which dealt with his many decorations as lead investigator of Search and Rescue). "We were searching Lucius Malfoy's mansion, Malfoy Manor. He had many, many hidden caverns underneath the Manor, twisting paths, too numerous to follow or map in any quick amount of time. Some lead to Pits of Death, some lead to large Troll reserves, some lead to places we have yet to imagine. I can't _believe _Malfoy got away with constructing such a debacle without so much as the Ministry catch on. Search and Rescue has finally gotten into some of the deeper caverns. Followed the paths, and such." He took in a deep breath and Hermione's hand into his. "One of the paths led to a room. . ."

As the tears welled up, there was a certain feeling of momentary finality in her heart. "You found his body, did you, Percy?" she asked. "Now I have something to bury."

He shook his head quite violently, his exceptionally kempt hair floating out from the edges. "Not his body." 

Hermione was getting frustrated at Percy's attempted compassion. He was taking so long. What? Did he want her to pull her hair out before he told her? She got up, taking her hand from Percy's firm grip. "What, Percy? What did you find?" she shouted, her face red. "I can take it! I'm a big girl! Take off the kid gloves and tell me!"

"We didn't find his body, Hermione," he revealed slowly. "We found _him_."

She gasped.

"We found Harry. Alive, but barely. He's at St. Mungo's."


	4. nothing remains

"You don't need to hear it  
But I'm dried up and sick to death of love  
If you need to know it  
I never really understood that stuff. . ."

_            ~Elton John, "This Train Don't Stop There Anymore"_

A feeling of complete relief befell Hermione as she entered the room. She stood in the doorway for some seconds before entering it one inch at a time. It was almost as if she breathed too fast, blinked too long, he would be gone.

The Boy Who Lived was _strapped_ to a bed at St. Mungo's, the ivory belts eating into his red wrists and ankles. Sleeping, he was attired in generic hospital-wear, something resembling Muggle scrubs, bruising showing wherever the clothes neglected to cover, including his neck and parts of his face. He was emaciated; Hermione could see his sunken in cheeks littered with cuts and purplish marks.

No matter, though, Hermione thought quietly. He was alive, and breathing. She could tell from his chest rising and falling evenly. She stood there in the doorway for a few moments, and closed her eyes, acclimating herself to that which she had fallen asleep to night in and night out.  

The Mediwitch (along with all of the wizarding world, it seemed) was very familiar with the situation regarding Harry's death. Did they know that he had been found? She had shown Hermione into Mr. Potter's room along with her tall redheaded escort, excusing herself immediately, saying, "I will fetch Dr. Boonyfetter for you, Ms. Granger," and making a mental note to tell the Gladys at the front desk about Potter being found. 

Percy was of the observant sort, and saw the look on the Mediwitch's face. "Madam-" he peered down at her name tag – "Bocagrande, Mr. Potter's presence here is being kept under the tightest of wraps. If you would kindly keep the news to yourself, the Ministry would appreciate it."

Dammit, Bocagrande thought to herself, but she was nothing if not devoted to her job. If the head of Search and Rescue for the Ministry asked her to keep it quiet, then that is what she would do. She nodded curtly and showed herself out.

Percy's hand went around Hermione's shoulder as he pushed her gently into the room. There were tubes all around him as monitors beeped reassuringly at a steady pace with Harry's breathing. They had not discussed anything in the haste to Apparate to St. Mungo's.

"He's so frail, Perce," she announced as she walked over to the bed. Like a porcelain doll she was afraid to touch, Hermione gently let her forefinger stroke a portion of cream skin on his arm. She eyed him. "How long have you had him? How long have you known he was alive?"

"Since yesterday, Hermione," he admitted. "Fudge didn't want to reveal it too quickly. He wanted us to get as much information from Malfoy Manor before we let you and the others in on it. News spreads like wildfire in the wizarding world." She snorted derisively; she plainly knew everyone's need for gossip. "The Dark Lord does not know he is still alive, it seems; he's just lost his Death Eater minions. Intelligence suggests he is in the far reaches of what used to be the Soviet Union, licking his wounds, plotting a comeback without his devoted followers."

She looked down at his ruffled brown hair, the scar the only recognizable aspect of the forehead she used to kiss before he gallivanted off to work every morning. "So nobody will know Harry was found?"

"It's the best for the situation, Hermione. The less the world knows, the less the Dark Lord knows. I mean, of course, we'll tell my family – and other intimates you may want to inform who are _trustworthy, _but as far as the larger wizarding world is concerned, Harry Potter is dead."

"Oh, my sweet Harry," she whispered to him, looking down at him lovingly. "Any word on Professor Snape?" 

"Nothing. No body has been found in any of the caverns we've searched thus far. I have Draco Malfoy on special assignment to search the caverns beneath the Manor. He _did _live at the Manor during his childhood, and though he didn't know about the hidden caverns, he _is_ one of best Search Specialists we have at the Ministry. We assume Snape was killed eons ago, but with no body, Professor Lupin refuses to sign the papers declaring him dead."

"Remus won't sign the papers?"

"They've been in love a long time, Hermione. Just like you, Remus has Professor Snape's power of the courts, and refuses to sign the papers to begin the process of declaring him dead. We can't do it without the next of kin. Bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo Fudge won't touch with a pole ten yards long. And just like it took you months to finally sign the papers for Harry, it will probably take just a long for Remus. And, damn Remus, he is depriving himself of Professor Snape's pension. You know, financially, things were never good for Lupin when he was alone. The lycanthropy and such." 

A moment of silent fell as she contemplated Professor Lupin, now in the same situation she had been in just yesterday – trying to face life without his soulmate. "I know Remus' state of mind right now. The best thing you can do is dispatch Black to him." At Percy's look of shock, she continued. "Do whatever it takes, Percy. Grant him clemency, commute his sentence, do _whatever _it takes. Sirius is in hiding, yes, but no one understands Remus but Sirius."

Percy simply answered, "I'll do what I can."

Her attention returned to her husband. "How was Harry found? What condition?" 

"You do not want to know about that, Hermione. It's not important. He's _here._ Don't focus on that which you cannot change."

She pried her eyes off Harry and steeled them for Percy. "_How _was he found?" she not so much as asked, but spat. "Look at him, Percy! He's thin, covered in bruises, arm broken! There are tubes _everywhere_. He's _strapped_ to a bed, damn it. What did they _do _to him?"

Percy took a moment and thanked the gods that for once the people at the Ministry did not take his advice and summon Hermione immediately. If she had been there yesterday, when they removed Harry's lifeless body from the pit. . . well, he didn't know if she could have survived it. She had not _seen _what he had _seen _yesterday. At least now, he was cleaned up a bit – but yesterday. . . He shuddered at the memory. 

He kissed her cheek, and pulled back from the bed. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the state in which he found Mr. Potter," Percy said professionally, reciting some sound bite he had practiced in front of the _The Daily Prophet _under different circumstances_. _"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't."

She was too emotionally drained to argue with him any further. Perhaps it didn't matter what state they had found him in. He was here. That was all that mattered, right?

"I'm going to go home, Hermione. You are Harry's spouse, and it is up to you whom we tell. Anyone who is not related to official Ministry business is your decision," Percy informed. "Do you want my family to know?"

"Of course," she said softly.

He smiled. "I think I can keep them from stampeding into this place like a herd of wild hippogriffs for _one day._ After tomorrow afternoon, though, good luck. You are on your own. Have a good night, Harry." 

He Apparated out as Dr. Boonyfetter walked in, clipboard firmly in hand, eyeing Hermione over the top of his oval glasses. "And you are Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter's wife?"

"Yes," she replied, stroking Harry's fingers, the only part of his body she felt she could feel without hurting him. 

"Ms. Granger, you are welcome to touch him. Trust me, it won't hurt him. Just treat him as you normally would. We find that patients often respond to the attention positively. Caress him, kiss him, hug him. Just do it delicately." He stared at his clipboard and then at Harry. "Your husband was found in rough shape. He has a broken arm, as you can see from the cast on his right. He is battered, bruised. Those will heal in time. We currently are pumping him full of Hither Potion and have a nurse applying healing ointment on his open wounds every hour on the hour."

"W-why is he strapped to the bed?" 

"He was brought in yesterday. . .he was thrashing about, yelling things. An odd thing about Mr. Potter – he was barely alive when Search and Rescue found him but once he was transported here he became absolutely violent for no apparent reason. A sudden surge of energy we're not sure from where. We had no choice but to sedate him in order to treat him. We strapped him to the bed to prevent him from hurting himself. I don't know what he's capable of. It's simply a safety precaution."

"Can you release him from the straps then?"

"No, I'm sorry, Ms. Granger, we can't. He's been sedated for almost a full day now, we don't know how he will react once released."

Disappointed, she tried again. "Can you at loosen them then? Look at his wrists and ankles, they're absolutely puckered and red. Please?"

He smiled a Dumbledore smile. "Of course we can. I'll have Nurse Bocagrande do it immediately. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to. You are welcome to magic a bed here, if you want, and spend the night with your husband. I am sure you are in no hurry to leave." 

"What. . . I mean, the future, what does it hold for him?"

"At this point, Ms. Granger, we don't know. He's been dealing with some very traumatic nightmares. We, at first, gave him a Sleeping Draught, but that was not strong enough to keep him absolutely _unconscious. _He was experiencing fierce nightmares, fighting through the Sleeping Draught, kicking, screaming at points. We had to finally administer a Sedation Serum because he was not resting. His body cannot heal if being jerked around by nightmares. I expect he will awaken sometime tomorrow, allowing the Ministry to question him, you to talk to him for awhile, before we give him more of the Sedation Serum." 

"Will he be okay?"

"Physically, he should recover just fine, but we are going to have a Mind Specialist visit tomorrow when he's conscious."

"A Mind Specialist?"

"Ms. Granger, the mind is exceptionally powerful. He's been through things at the hand of those damn Death Eaters that I cannot _even _imagine." There was an undercurrent of rage in his voice that shook his entire body. "My daughter, Antonia Boonyfetter-Wood, was an Auror, and she was killed by Death Eaters at the Conflict at Peckinwood some months ago. The Death Eaters are gone now, though, and I know that your husband had something to do with it. He is reason enough that Toni did not die in vain. For that, I thank him tremendously." He resettled his glasses comfortably on his nose. "I need to depart now, Ms. Granger. I will check on our patient later, and attempt an _Ennervate _as the Sedation Serum wares off. Good bye."

Hermione stood there for a few moments, alone with her husband for the first time in months. The emotions flew to the fore in that moment. She broke down right at his bedside, sank to her knees with the relief of Harry Potter – _Harry Potter – _lying in that bed, once close to death, but not dead. __

 She touched him everywhere she could, anywhere where there was a patch of skin revealed, reveling in the sensation of his rough skin. This sensation she thought she would never feel again. 

"Harry," she whispered, repeating the name as if she could not get enough of it. "Harry, Harry, oh, you're here, my Harry. _My _Harry. I love you so much, Harry. Don't go anywhere, Harry. Stay here, Harry. Please stay here, Harry." 

She doubted that she would ever tire of saying his name. And would love it even more when he responded.

A/N Just a note that I stole Dr. Boonyfetter's name from Echo's "A Bit of The Dark Sinister," which _used _to be posted here at ff.net, but no longer is. I love that name. It's absolutely silly and fantastic, and I hope Echo is not offended.

Thanks to those who have reviewed thus far (I have 12 at the moment of this upload): slytheringirl16, Thalia the Muse, Ahyanah, ethereal-zoe. And **special** BIG hugs to lightning bug, Rivulet027, and Isa for coming back again and again and telling me your thoughts on this very experimental story. 

And the Chocolate Frog has been awarded to ethereal-zoe for determining that my chapter titles are coming from a Mavericks' song entitled, "Here Comes the Rain." 

I hope you're enjoying the story, and the bits of wisdom according to Elton John at the start of each chapter.__


	5. of what used to be

"What have I got to do to make you love me?  
What have I got to do to make you care?  
What do I do when lightning strikes me  
And I wake to find that you're not there?"

_            ~Elton John, "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word"_

" 'Scuse me?" interrupted a short something accompanied by a shorter something. Madam Bocagrande looked down from her seat at the MediWitch's Station to see two children, both plump with blonde hair. An older girl with a little boy, the older one being 5 if a day, the younger one clutching onto the girl's robes. "Do you know where our mummy and daddy are?"

"No, actually, I do not. Tell me your names and I will have them paged," Bocagrande replied professionally. At their confused expressions, she sighed and added, "I'll say that you two are lost and they should come fetch you here."

The younger boy shoved a large finger into his nose and started digging as if searching for gold as the older girl paused for a second. "My name's Sausage Tallbum, and this 'ere's my little brother, Toadie."

Bocagrande eyed them. "What're those, Native American names or something?" she asked Gladys quietly as she moved towards the loudspeaker system utilized strictly in hospitals. She thought she heard Gladys mutter something about 'damn hippie wizards and their InsanitiSerum' before she proceeded with her announcement. "Would the parents of Sausage and Toadie Tallbum please come to MediWitch's station on the third floor? The parents of Sausage and Toadie Tallbum to MediWitch Station 3, please." She looked at the children, the girl preoccupied with something on her robes as her brother examined whatever priceless treasure he had pulled out of his nostrils. "Wait here, children, I'm sure your parents will be here any second, and do be quiet." 

The kids heard their parents' voices long before Bocagrande ever looked up from her paperwork again. "You children!" said their mother in a harsh whisper. "If you _ever _run away from us again, so help me. . ." She enveloped them in a hug. "My babies, do not scare Mummy and Daddy like that again! I mean it!"

"Kids, please, you do not play Hide and Seek at the hospital. And you definitely don't play it and forget to tell Mummy and me. Then we'll forget to find you!" said the brown haired man with a smile.

"I take it you're Sausage and Toadie's parents?" Bocagrande asked mutinously. 

They nodded in unison as the mother took hold of the girl's hand, the father of the boy's. "Thank you very much for your help. And kids, say thank you to the nice MediWitch."

The boy, Toadie, looked up at his father with big doe eyes. "But Daddy, she wasn't very nice," he whispered.

"You named your children Sausage and Toadie?" Bocagrande asked skeptically, one eyebrow cocked.

"No," answered the man, "my brilliant wife thought that my 5-year-old and 3-year-old-" he shot his wife a glance and rolled his eyes- "were old enough to learn about synonyms."

The girl contributed her piece, completely matter-of-factly, "See, Mum said that frank was another name for sausage, and my little brother, Trevor, was named after my dad's old pet toad, and since there are no other words for 'Trevor,' I called him Toadie. 'nother word for long is tall, and what's another word for bottom, Toadie?"

Trevor removed his thumb from his mouth long enough to say, "Bum," before giggling as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

"See, our last name is Longbottom. I'm Neville, my wife Pansy, our daughter Frankie and son Trevor," he attempted to explain as Pansy led their children towards Frank Longbottom's room. 

Bocagrande did not look amused. 

Frankie spotted her aunt as she walked from the restroom towards a secluded room towards the back that was coincidentally down the hall from her grandfather's room. "Aunt Hermione!" Frankie screeched as she ran to her. Trevor was sure to follow moments later, waddling unsteadily.

Hermione's eyes darted back and forth suspiciously, as if afraid of who may see her in this hospital's corridor. She bent down and hugged Frankie and Trevor as Neville and Pansy followed. Neville embraced Hermione with his children, before stepping back. Pansy, none too pleased with encountering a Mud-blood, stood back, as Hermione acknowledged her with a nod and a, "Parkinson."

"That's Longbottom, Granger, you're smart, get it right."

Neville looked pleadingly at his wife. "Pansy, my Puffskein, would you mind telling my father I'll be back in a few minutes? Whyn't you take our devil-children with you?" She kissed her husband and, in one of the rare moments in life, Pansy Longbottom wordlessly complied with her husband's request. "Toadie, Sausage, say g'bye to your aunt." They did, and followed their mum.

Hermione didn't have time to ask about the rather odd nicknames of her godchildren before she answered the question she knew was coming, "I'm fine, Neville. Really, I mean it. I'm coping with everything pretty well, if I do say so myself." 

He hugged her again. "Why're you here?"

Hermione's mind jogged for a second. "Just visiting a special friend." 

"Anyone I know?" 

Hermione bit her lip for a moment. She hated to lie, but as much as she loved Neville, he was helpless at keeping secrets. "No one you know. How's your dad doing?"

His eyes teared up briefly before he wiped it away. "He's doing about as well as you'd expect. I think he knows that Mum's gone, but you know, _considering, _it's hard to tell what he understands and what he doesn't. He's drawing pictures without her in them, if that's any sign."

Trevor Longbottom knew an opportunity when he saw one, as he peeked his Charlie Brown-cheeked face out of his grandfather's room and saw his daddy talking to his aunt. Glancing backwards to make sure his mother was preoccupied with Grandpa Frank (she doted on him), he took off paddling quietly down the hallway.

Neville could sense Hermione was in a rush to return to her friend. "Listen, Hermione, I'm sorry to cut this short, but Pansy's with my father, and if I don't get back soon, she'll be filling my father's head with stories from our days at Hogwarts," Neville said. "I hope your friend is feeling better."

"And your dad, I hope today's a good day for him," Hermione wished obliquely. "See you soon, Longbottom. Kiss those godchildren of mine for me."

"Sure thing," he said as he hugged her again.

Hermione looked to Harry's room as she held Neville, almost hopeful that he would be awake. Dr. Boonyfetter said he would probably be conscious by afternoon today, a day after Percy had come to her flat to tell her the news. The door opened abruptly as an impish face showed itself.

"Aunt Hermynee?" asked Trevor. "Unca Harry's wakin' up."

Hermione was off and running towards the door before Neville even had time to question what his son had just said. "What'd you just say, Trevor?" he questioned his son.

The toddler sighed, and repeated, "Sshh, Daddy! Unca Harry's wakin' up from his nap!"

As he picked up his son from the doorway, Neville peered in. And he'd be damned if dead Harry Potter was not lying in a bed, very much alive.

One glimpse was all he needed as he closed the door behind him, clutching his son tightly, thanking whatever gods lay up above for this miracle.

*****

Hermione rubbed his forehead as Harry's eyes fluttered open. She saw the green for but a few seconds before they closed instantaneously, and then opened again. "Come on, Potter. Wake up," she whispered soothingly.

The emerald was clearly visible as he focused in on her. On her hair. And her face. She smiled as he caught him taking in her features. 

"You've been napping far too long, Potter," she said quietly, a phrase she'd repeated time and time again on weekends when he'd spend half the day in bed. "Time to get up, get the day started."

His voice was gruff as it tried to speak. "H-H-Herm. . ." he started, but it faded into a hoarse whisper.   

"It's me, your wife. It's me, Hermione," she filled in. "Don't speak. We have plenty of time to do that." 

He tried again. "Hermio. . ." 

"Shhh, baby, it's me." 

He tried to touch her face, but his hand would not correspond to the willed movement, she could see. She touched his hand calmingly. 

Harry pulled his hand back. His eyes became slits. "G-get. . . Herm. . . G-go away."

A look of shock crossed her face as he regained the use of his voice. "What?"

"G-get out of h-here. D-don't t-touch m-m-me. L-leave."

She got up. "I'm sorry? What do you mean, leave?"

"I-I m-mean, l-leave, H-herm-mione. Now."

She paused for a moment, looking at him pleadingly, not understanding what was happening. Her husband? What? What was going on?

"L-LEAVE!" he yelled as Madam Bocagrande entered at the commotion. She noncommittally ushered her out of the room.


	6. here comes the night

__

"A man like me is dead in places  
Other men feel liberated"

~Elton John, "I Want Love"  


The Owl post had been waiting at her window for at least a half hour., she realized, peeking her eyes out from under the covers. It was a tawny owl, one that she did not recognize, that, frustrated, pecked at the window nonstop for the last fifteen minutes, rousing her from her sobbing-induced sleep. She begrudgingly got up and opened the window, allowing the owl to enter and hand her a cream envelope with some logo embossed on it. 

It had been two weeks of Hell for one Mrs. Hermione Granger. 

Her husband refused to see her at the hospital, any news she received from about his well being came second hand from Ron or the rest of the Weasleys, whom Harry had no problem seeing. 

"He's doing fine, Hermione," Ron had told her comfortingly on the first night she'd been banned from St. Mungo's. "Things are _different, _and I don't know that he's ready to discuss what's happened yet. He will see you soon, though. Soon." 

"Soon, my British arse," she muttered quietly, opening up the message with "Fallman, Vidigal and Skablatsky: Wizard Solicitors Extraordinaire," on its front. "He hasn't wanted to see me yet, he may never want to see me."

She walked to her dressing table and picked up a stray tortilla chip from the unfinished bag, handing it to the owl whom took it thankfully and flew straight out the window. 

There was an informal note attached to the official looking documents.

__

"Ms. Granger:

My name is Parnell Fallman, solicitor-at-law, and I am handling this case on behalf of your husband, Mr. Harold James Potter. By his request, along with that of Professor Albus Dumbledore and Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, I am attempting to make it as unobtrusive as possible due to extenuating circumstances regarding Mr. Potter's status in wizarding community. 

Please do your husband a favor and respond as soon as possible. Any questions may be directed to me at my Muggle offices in London, or my branch offices in Birmingham, Hogsmeade or Calandbury. 

Sincerely,

Parnell Fallman, Esq."

Hermione scanned the ivory piece of "official" parchment silently for a few seconds before her eyes settled on the title of the document, seven key words that astonished her so much, she needed to read them a few times:

"Petition for Divorce and Child Custody Agreement."

*****

Not even the guards Harry had specifically requested Percy put in front of his hospital room could keep Hermione out when she Apparated to St. Mungo's. 

She brushed passed the MediWitch's Station on the third floor, catching Madam Bocagrande by surprise. Bocagrande attempted to pause Hermione with a terse, "Ms. Granger, you are not allowed to see your husband."

Hermione eyed the ashen woman in front of her, waving the papers around like a mad woman. "Do you _see _these scraps of parchment? Do you _see _these scraps of parchment?" Hermione nearly shouted in the hospital corridor, as patients of all shapes and sizes waited their turn to see a doctor. 

Bocagrande weighed possible answers – she did not want to be subject of this obviously unbalanced woman's Killing Curse – before settling on a safe, "Yes, I do see those pieces of parchment. They do exist."

"I _know _they exist, Madam," Hermione replied sarcastically. "I'm not so nutty that you need to secure me a place in your insanity ward."

__

Oh, hospital security, please come soon, Bocagrande prayed silently as she talked with Ms. Granger. 

The guard stationed in front of Harry's door walked to them immediately, noticing Mr. Potter's wife's bushy hair as described by Percy Weasley. Other than the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, and other names as added by Mr. Potter himself – and _only _Mr. Potter himself – no one else was allowed in the room. For goodness sakes, no one else knew he was alive! And the guard was happy to take a break from Azkaban duty. This was a ride on a broomstick compared to _that _job.

Assuming his most authoritative tone, he asked the MediWitch, "Madam, is there a problem?"

"No, there's no problem," Hermione snapped. "I just want to see my husband." 

Bocagrande smiled her most angelic smile at Ms. Granger before nudging Carl and whispering, "Seems he won't be her husband for long."

__

She knew! Hermione thought. _How did this nosy MediWitch know about this? No matter. I just need to see Harry._

"Is there a problem?" Carl asked again, this time directed towards Bocagrande. 

"Yes, Ms. Granger would like to be let in to see a special patient. She does not have the patient. If you would please remove her from the premises. . ." Bocagrande started, deriving a certain pleasure at seeing intelligent Hermione Granger humiliated and thrown out of this establishment. 

"What's going on here?" asked Dr. Boonyfetter, looking up from his chart as he passed the trio in the corridor. Upon recognizing Hermione, he exclaimed, "Ms. Granger! Fancy seeing you here."

Tears welled up in her eyes as the desperation surfaced. Her lips trembling, she said simply, "I can't see my husband." 

"I know, Ms. Granger. A particular person has not added you to their list of guests," he acknowledged. "Bloody daft move, in my opinion, but I do not create his list of visitors." He focused on his determined and dedicated nurse, who was a professional in her job, if terribly, not in her life. "Madam Bocagrande, Carl, I think I have a handle on the situation. If you'll excuse us. . . Carl, you are welcome to take an extended break with my permission as primary physician." 

Carl looked flummoxed for a moment as Bocagrande, beaten, returned to the desk and Gladys. "You don't have such authority, Dr. Boonyfetter," he said with utmost respect.

"My responsibility is to my patient, and I will do nothing that will put his security at risk. Please, do take an extended break with my permission. If anything should happen, you will be summoned at once. Now, please," Boonyfetter said, leading Hermione to Harry's room. He opened the door for her, prompting, "You'll have fifteen minutes. Go ahead," before shutting the door behind her. 

*****

"Harold James Potter, you get up this _instant," _Hermione whispered venomously to her husband, this man, the center of her world who no longer wanted her in his. 

Harry's head jumped off the pillow before he could even react, reaching for his wand lying next to him instinctually with his right hand. He rubbed his eyes as his wand was pointed firmly at her, "Hermione?" he asked, shocked. 

"Yes?"

"Get out of here. Now. There's supposed to be security at my door."

"There was," she stated matter-of-factly.

"What's going on? How'd you get in here?" he questioned quietly. "Damn incompetent prison staff. I'm going to have Percy's ginger head on a platter when I see him again."

"It's not Percy's fault, _darling,"_ Hermione was disturbed when Harry flinched at the last word.

"How did you get in here?" he repeated again.

"None of your damn business." She shook the papers in front his face. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry concentrated on the blurring words for a second before responding in monotone, "Look like divorce papers to me, Oh Bright One." 

"Don't get cheeky with me, Harry. What is the meaning of this? What is the meaning of _all _of this?" she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I find out your alive, and then I can't _see _you? Why did you do this to me? What did I do to you?" The tears fell quite clearly as she questioned him.

He seemed to lose function of his voice for a moment as he attempted to explain himself. ". . .I. . ." he started. When that route didn't work, he reverted to the old argument: "You aren't supposed to be in here. Don't me make summon Percy and hospital security." 

"What did I do to you, Harry?" she asked again. "I. . . you're my _husband. _What is it about me that repels you so, when you can see the Weasleys and the Longbottoms without consequence?"

"It's not you, Hermione," he stated simply. 

"Then what is it?" she queried, unconvinced.

"It's not you," he repeated steadfastedly. His eyes moved to the parchment now on the side table. "Do me a favor, Hermione. If you love me, just sign those documents. Please, just sign those documents now. As your husband and father of your child, just sign them, I beg of you."

She picked them up and leafed through them, sitting on the bed, unbearably close to Harry when he uttered those words. "What did you just say?" she asked.

"Sign the documents? It's a simple request, 'Mione. Please."

"No, no, about the baby." She looked him straight in the eye. "You don't know about the baby, do you, Harry? I just assumed that since the Weasleys had been around. . ."

He looked confused. "What about the baby? Have we found out the sex yet? It's a little soon, I guess, but with you and your charms, I'm sure you could fathom out _some _way. . ."

"There's no baby, Harry."

He hands flew to his forehead, absentmindedly caressing the scar that lay on his forehead as he lay against the pillow. "What do you mean, there's no baby? Of course there's a child. You were pregnant, I remember that much very clearly."

"I _was _pregnant, you're right about that, Harry, amongst other things." She took his hand, but this time, in contrast to that last time two weeks ago, he did not pull away. "I'm not anymore."

"What? I don't understand. You can't just _stop _a child's gestation, Hermione."

"You can if you miscarry." She smiled compassionately as she gave him time to process the information. "I miscarried, Harry. S-see, the thing was, I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead. It wasn't a case of you going missing, all of the wizarding world assumed – assumes – you are dead. I miscarried the child when I found out. I was at the Weasleys. . . Due to stress, my doctor said, and not uncommon in first pregnancies either."

"I. . . Hermione. . . I didn't k-know. I am so sorry you had to go through that yourself."

"I wasn't by myself really. I had Ron and the rest of his family, and my parents, and Mrs. Hopkins – she was great about giving me time off when I needed it. I was never really alone, but gods, there were so many times right after the miscarriage that I couldn't even find a reason to get out of bed in the morning." She touched his face. "So many times I wished, bargained, _pleaded _with whatever was upstairs to let me do this to you one more time." She laughed. "And look at this, I am. I am actually touching you." She pulled closer to him, his face inches from hers. "Gods, do you know how much I love you?"

His body went rigid under her hand, and he pulled his face back. "I'm sorry about the baby, Hermione, I really am, but do yourself a favor. Sign the papers. Don't come back. Let me rephrase that, there will _be _no problems with security next time. You won't get in."

Today was a lost cause, she could see it in his eyes. For a moment – for a moment – he had let her in again. A glimpse of her husband, not this guarded shadow of a man that lay in a bed with a chart labeled "Potter, Harold James."

"Fair enough, Potter," she replied silkily, "but you know how I respond to a challenge." 

With that, with the upper hand, she exited the room, quite intent on seeing the interior of this hospital – of this _room _– again with little trouble.


	7. dark as my soul

"You know you can't hold me forever  
I didn't sign up with you"

_            ~Elton John, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road"_

"Ms. Granger?" Dr. Boonyfetter interrupted as Hermione sat in the waiting room, which she did every day. Harry did not let her into his room, the guard posted did not her into Harry's room, and so she silently showed her dedication to her husband each and everyday by sitting in that waiting room, passing messages onto her husband through that useless rent-a-cop – occasionally shooting evil glances to MediWitch Bocagrande, who scurried around for her husband, and attempted to ignore her in the process.

Just one word from her, and she would be let into his room. She could bend the rules, move Carl the Guarddog, but _no, _it seemed that Nurse Bocagrande would not acquiesce her despite her pleadings to see her husband, talk to her husband, _be _with her husband. Dr. Boonyfetter had removed himself from the situation, saying that he had already exceeded his authority by letting Hermione in that first time, it would up to Bocagrande now. 

And it _was _up to Bocagrande now.

"Ms. Granger?" Dr. Boonyfetter attempted again, pulling Hermione off her train of thought – that piece of evil situated conveniently behind the MediWitch's Station.

"Yes?" she asked, responding to the elderly doctor's hand on her shoulder.

"We need to talk about your husband," he said quietly.

"What? Will he be released soon?" she said enthusiastically, a smile spreading on her lips.

"No, no, he will not be released anytime in the near future. It would be unproductive for him to face the real world right now, and I doubt his body could take it. As it is, he is still adapting to real life – freedom, three square meals, the hospital staff. It's been ages, I know, Ms. Granger, but it will take his mind ages longer than his body to recover from the horrors he's seen."

"I see," she whispered, disappointed.

"There, there, dear. Just a little while more, and you'll have your old Potter back. Right now, he's experiencing a problem reconnecting with life. He's afraid of forming new connections with you especially because he knows what being _Harry Potter _means to your relationship. If he was to disappear again, he doesn't know if you can handle it. Well, it's that among other things."

"Other things?"

"Your husband's violent dreams have been getting more and more frequent. The medication, the new serums are not working anymore. Quite frankly, we're running out of ways to sedate your husband, and he no longer wants to be here. We think that the troubling atmosphere – the hospital, the intrusive examinations and questions by the Mind Specialist – it's slowly driving his mind to react in ways that his body cannot, being constrained."

"W-what is happening in these dreams?"

"We don't know. He's been yelling your name over and over in his dreams, jerking every part of his body, clawing at his own face – you can see the fingernail marks and blood on his pillow in the morning – and perhaps the most disturbing, Ms. Granger, he yells the Killing Curse loud and often. Mr. Longbottom down the hall gets very agitated at the constant yelling. He refractured his healing arm last night from his violent body jerks – and remember, he was strapped down at the time. We just don't know what to _do_. We have one of the most renowned Mind Specialists in all of wizarding Britain here just for Mr. Potter – he refuses to speak to her. We attempted hypnotism – Mr. Potter fought it. We attempted a mild Truth Serum – Mr. Potter fought it. He won't talk, but he gets more and more serious every day. I can't release him until he's cured of these physical ailments."

"When he's awake, though, he's perfectly coherent?"

"If not a little aggressive and hostile to the MediWitches, and of course, to me and the Mind Specialist. Other than that, nothing you wouldn't expect from a wizarding savior strapped to a bed. Its his actions when he's asleep that scare me. It's the fact that he won't talk. It's the fact that he seems unwilling to help me help him."

*****

Hermione realized she could do no good today at the hospital, she'd simply return tomorrow. Amongst the other things she had to complete today, job one was stopping by Remus and Severus' flat.

Well, Remus' flat now.

She knocked hesitantly on the door, before a thin, graying obviously blonde man opened the door, haggard, back bent, looking like Atlas himself after a thousand years of holding the world on his shoulders.

"Hermione," he said in that way he often said things, softly and a little too happily. "What a nice surprise."

"Remus, how are you doing?" she asked, following Remus into the small flat on the outskirts of Hogwarts. 

"As good as I can be, considering the circumstances." His yellowed eyes softened. "They think I'm quite nutty for not signing Severus' death cert."

"They, meaning?" Hermione questioned.

"Just the free world," he chuckled softly. "No one that really matters or anything. You know how it is, it took you months to sign. That's what I heard the last time Percy was here – and that was – what? – three, four months ago? I haven't seen anyone in ages," he gestured towards his tattered robes that had not been changed in ages, "as you can obviously see."

"Harry's alive, Remus," she revealed quietly, fearing a heart attack might strike this blighted man who had taught her so much.

"Really? Is he now? Goodness gracious, I really haven't been in contact with the outside world, have I? That is excellent news!" His clapped his hands together, a twinkle in his eye, somehow for a moment regaining that spark of life he was famous for. "This deserves a drink!" He went to the cupboard. "So tell me about him."

Hermione told him the happier details, of which there were few. How they had talked a few times, of his fatigue but iron will. She used vague words – she did not want to ruin this very rare moment of happiness for Remus. Snape's death had ruined him something awful, perhaps Harry's miraculous find might help full him out of his funk.

"I am really quite happy for you," he said honestly, looking her in the eye. "Harry, alive. That is a wonderful miracle. I need to go see him. I need to go see a lot of people." Remus' eyes teared up a bit, and Hermione knew – she _knew ­– _that Remus was not thinking of Harry.

He was doing the same exact thing she had done every time a new prisoner had been released from Death Eater Headquarters. She had silently hoped that because one prisoner had been released, another prisoner – her husband – would be released. It was a conjoined dream, a vicarious dream from Remus channeled to Hermione as she held her beloved and kissed him the morning.

And sadly, Hermione just did not have the heart to tell him that she – in her heart of hearts, as did the rest of the Ministry and wizarding Britain – believed that Professor Severus Snape, master of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ex-Death Eater, life partner of ex-Professor Remus Lupin, was actually quite dead.


	8. there's no end in sight

__

"I can't light no more of your darkness  
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white  
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me."

"Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me," Elton John

It was dark.

And that was all he knew for sure.

"Do it."

"No."

"Do it."

__

"No."

"Do it, dammit. It'll be easier for all of us without the Cruciatus, just do it."

Silence. A shiver. A moan from somewhere in front of him. 

"Are you going to do it?"

"No."

"Very well. You picked your own fate, and suffer you will."

And the screams started.

*****

The morning was blossoming in beautiful fashion. 

She dressed with purpose this beautiful morning; there were no dark circles under her eyes as there had been a few months ago. There was no feeling of helplessness. She conjured up her morning coffee and looking out the window, she knew that things would work out. While perhaps not work out for the _best, _issues would be resolved, and she would be better for having experienced the conflict.

As she did the morning dishes, she called her mother to confirm their lunch plans at a little café on the outskirts of London. One of her mother's favorites. And she created a to-do list. 

Hermione was slowly adjusting to a life without Harry. He was alive, she had told herself time and time again. He was _alive, _and whether he wanted her to be apart of his life or not, he was _alive, _and she could adapt to a life without him knowing that he was okay, living, breathing in some part of the world.

It was almost mourning a death - but no death had taken place. A case of mourning what was, perhaps, but she had done her penance. She would make it through this as she had somehow made it through that dark period thinking he was dead.

If she could deal with that, she could deal with anything.

A number of things changed with that visit to Remus' flat. Hermione saw what he was, and in comparison to the jolly professor she had known pre-Severus, the contrast was startling. It was the same path she was heading down. If Hermione Granger could save herself from that bleak fate, she would. 

Hermione would trade her dedication to Harry Potter for her own sanity. A difficult choice, no doubt, but she was tired of playing the martyr. 

She would show her dedication to him - she continued to visit the hospital daily - but her life did not depend on whether he allowed her to see him today. She spent an hour there in the waiting room, just long enough for Madam Bocagrande to ask Harry if he wanted to see her, and when the request would be declined, she'd continue on with her day.

After months of being turned down day in and day out, she took Ron's advice and did something _else. _("Anything else, Hermione! You won't do anybody good sitting in that waiting room… and I've heard Mrs. Hopkins is almost without her left arm since you've been gone.")

There was a sort of liberation in that: in knowing that she was doing the world some good by working with her beloved toddlers again. 

In knowing that she could sleep a fitful night under the same moon as her husband. 

In knowing that she was stronger than she ever imagined. 

In knowing that sometimes faith lay not in holding on, but in letting go.

*****

"Mrs. Hopkins, I'm leaving now!" Hermione shouted, straightening her overalls over the wails of Topiary Moppelton, bucket lodged on his head as he screamed bloody murder. 

The old witch scrambled over to the child as he started to hit the bucket with a plastic shovel. "Have a good time, darling, and thanks so much for the help. Remember tomorrow's payday! G'bye, dear. Tope, now, Tope, please be q-" And Hermione shut the door behind her, eyeing the Tube schedule as she trekked off to meet her mother for lunch.

"Where are you heading in such a hurry, witch?" came a voice from behind her. 

She grabbed her wand lodged in her many, many pockets before turning around slowly. "W-witch?"

Seeing the goofy smile and red hair, she laughed as she saw Ron appear from behind a bush that hid the window on Mrs. Hopkins' property. "Ronald Weasley! What kind of stupidity is that - Apparating in broad daylight into Muggle territory? For shame!"

"Please, Hermione, this lane is _totally _empty. How else do you explain how Mrs. Hopkins keeps her witch status a secret?" he asked coyly.

"Ron, shhhh!" she hushed, as if he had used every four-letter word in the book. "Have you no subtlety? Oh, wait, I forgot who I was talking to." She cracked a smile and hugged him. "I swear, Weasley, if the Hollyhocks pay you a Knut a year, it's too much because you have _way _too much free time during the day."

"Oh, but Ms. Granger, don't you know they pay me to stand around all day to look pretty?" He modeled a little in the spirit of Pansy Parkinson from their schooldays. "I swear, I'm all beauty, no brains."

"You can say _that _again, Ron," she said as they walked towards the gated white-picketed fence that enclosed the property, kept the children in, and was charmed with an anti-Dark Arts spell which would alert Mrs. Hopkins if _any _Dark Forces attempted to cross the boundary.

"So, where are you headed?" he questioned as he buffed his nails. "St. Mungo's, Remus', perhaps La Casa de Granger-slash-Potter?"

"Surprisingly, none of the above. I was actually going to lunch with my mother. Would you like to come too? She'd love to see you."

"I think I'll decline. Far be it from me to interrupt a Granger mother-daughter bonding session. I actually came here playing messenger. Perce sent me here with a purpose."

"You and purpose in the same sentence? Will wonders never cease?" she asked wryly, as they approached the Tube stop. 

"Shut up. He needs to talk to you. He said he'd meet you in Dr. Boonyfetter's office at St. Mungo's tomorrow at 7 p.m. - that's if you're free of course. If you aren't free, he instructed me to tell you to please send your decline in written form with your signature by owl to give him at least twenty-four hours to make other plans." He took a deep breath as if that last speech had tired him. 

"I'm free. Harry's not seeing me, so I'm free."

"Tell Mr. Decorum that, then. Glad to see you're making a go of it, though. You couldn't wait around St. Mungo's forever," he said quietly, taking off his blue Hoopington Hollyhocks windbreaker.

"Are you still seeing him? Occasionally?" she asked quietly. " Dr. Boonyfetter owls me with updates regularly. They've started unstrapping his wrists during the afternoons now and they are allowing him to feed himself, but how's he doing? Really?"

He looked up at her, licking his lips. "He's doing good, really good. We've shared a couple of really good talks when he's willing to talk at all. I saw the Longbottoms there last week - the little guy was crawling all over him and he seemed to take it all well, even with the high pitched 'Unca Harry, Unca Harry!' Neville and him were playing Exploding Snap."

"He hasn't played Exploding Snap in _ages._"

"That's a throwback to our days at Hogwarts, isn't it?" he reminisced. "And I'll be damned if Frankie doesn't look taller and more like her mother each and every time I see her. I swear, our goddaughter is going to be some kind of heartbreaker when she grows up."

"And Parkinson? Any of that seething anger still directed toward my husband even in his state?" she queried, putting her knapsack on the floor outside the stop and fishing for a token.

"Please, Hermione. She's a Slytherin. Harry could save her from a parcel load of acromantulas, and she'd _still _stare daggers at him. No, she was just sitting in the corner, looking as bored as could be, filing her nails." 

"I still don't know how we - you, me, Harry - how we ended up godparents to both her children. Neville must have done some real buttering up."

"It was odd, though, when I visited Harry with the Longbottoms. At one point, Frankie was sort of roughhousing with Trevor and Trevor was pounding on the bed. You know Harry, he's unflappable for the most part - nothing really gets him mad - but Trevor was pounding on the bed right by his head and Harry started… I mean, I can't describe the wailing that Harry emitted."

Hermione looked concerned. "Wailing?"

"So Boonyfetter comes running in to sedate Harry - the Longbottoms are huddled in a corner a little scared, Trevor and Frankie crying at this point, of course, watching their uncle - and he tells us that he's never seen Harry make this sound when he's awake before. It was something about Trevor slapping by his ear. . .triggered something. . . I just don't know. . ."

She was scared - but she wasn't going to let Ron see her fear. Not when she had her friends thinking that she was, if not over him, then occupied with other things in her life. "I've got a train to catch in a minute and a half, Ron. Sorry to cut this short, but Mum awaits."

"Fair enough, but just to let you know, you are a witch and you _are _allowed to Apparate from place to place. Not only is it fun, it's also free!" he informed, pointing to the token in her left hand.

She smiled. "Go back to work, Ron. Please. Who else is going to bring the beauty to Hoopington?"

"Why, Higgs, of course, with those sexy teeth."

Hermione laughed again. "Get lost, Weasley."

"Will do, Granger."

"And, Weasley?" 

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"Mountain trolls are not invincible," she reminded, her eyes misting, truly appreciating him in this moment as being her rock throughout this ordeal. An allusion to the incident that bonded them, it was code amongst the Golden Trio for "You are my best friend in the whole wide world, I adore you, I love you, but I'm not comfortable saying it so clearly right now."

"I love you, too," he whispered as she walked down the steps towards the subway.

****

A/N If you're reading this, welcome back to TWDNKM. After a four-month hiatus, I finally figured out what I want to do with this story. 

Special thanks to those reviewers who read it during the hiatus and asked whether this story was dead. I thought it was, but OotP's damned inspirational. 

I am going to try and finish this story before I return to my university in late August, hopefully posting a new chapter every week or so. I have a direction.

Dedicated to Isa, who I hope will read OotP soon and to her adopted son, Benjamin, the bunny. Benny, oh, Benny boy, the time has come to say that I am your real mother, conceived of a secret liaison between me and Frank the Bunny. If you've seen Donnie Darko, you know what I'm talking about. 


	9. no shining light

_"For each man in his time is Cain,_

_Until he walks along the beach,_

_And sees his future in the water,_

_A long lost heart within his reach."_

_         ~Elton John, "The One"_

The decomposing remains of Professor Severus Snape were found by his most prized student on a gray day in late November. In assisting Search and Rescue, with the most honorable Percy Weasley by his side, Draco Malfoy was the one who followed the path hidden behind a shallow wall covered with ash and rubble. It was a horrific discovery, no doubt, but in crouching there, observing the body, Malfoy was overcome with a sense of completion at knowing there was a final chapter to what had been a brave if not secluded existence. The broken fairytale was over.  Snape was a person honest enough with the world that he would not be idealized; he would be remembered as distant, cold, and _human_.

His hair was as black as the night in which he felt most comfortable, it was the rest of his body that had suffered. No bruising, Percy shrewdly observed, and no wounds or breaking of skin except for his fingernails. There was no doubt that the Killing Curse had done Snape in, and Malfoy wasn't surprised. It was his father's most favorite method of death. 

The coroner was summoned, and as the remainder of the Search and Rescue outfit entered the enclosed cavern – with the volunteer Magical Defense Legion flanking them - and saw the body, they took off their hard hats. A good majority of these young men had done their time at Hogwarts under Snape's tenure. They had cursed him (literally and figuratively, of course), pondered the use of the Killing Curse on him themselves, but each of them had experienced a moment when a potion had to be created in the field – to help an injured comrade in battle, perhaps – and thought back to those days, sitting back in that Dungeon when he pounded those recipe lists into their heads, over and over, over and over, quipping, insulting, with the result always the same – they had _remembered _these absolutely vital mixtures. 

There was no sermon, no moment of silence, no praise out of Percy Weasley's mouth - for Snape was a man who never needed praise.  

Percy looked behind him, as the boys walked past, breaking down the wall behind the corpse. Some walked past with tears in their eyes. Years on the job and you never got used to seeing a body, even though they _knew _he was dead. He looked around this place that had been Snape's tomb. Caught Longbottom throwing up in the corner. Saw Malfoy crouching over the body, holding his hand despite the edict not to touch a body until an investigation had taken place, saw the look of disbelief on his face as he held up the thin, spindly fingers up to his pink ones. Thought of his own moments sitting in Snape's Dungeons as he unfairly took points of Gryffindor, of the many times he'd saved his little brother (and his little brother's best friend), and there was nothing left to say as the body handlers came in sporting their floating stretchers and meshed body bags.

"The body's over there. Malfoy, please, Malfoy, give them room."

Malfoy's broken eyes did not move from Snape as the coroner's department moved around Snape's body. It was as he moved backwards towards Percy that he saw it glimmer, despite being covered in dust.

*****

It was late in the night when she received an insistent peck on the window. It was Violet, the Longbottoms' old, bedraggled eagle owl. She opened it up quickly, still unsure why Neville would be sending her an owlthis late in the night. The piece of parchment was pink with chocolate spots covering it, as if it had been ripped off a larger, piece of parchment with frayed edges. In the corner of the parchment were large letters in green crayon spelling out "F," "R," and "A." Obviously he'd been in such a rush that he had taken one of Frankie's pieces of scratch parchment and written the hasty note.

Granger~ Passing on a message I got from Neville via the Floo Network. Get to St. Mungo's immediately. They found Snape's body, and the interrogation team is apparently in quite a rush to get your husband's bedside. 

_Go._

Pansy Longbottom 

Hermione was a little taken aback at the fact that _Pansy Parkinson _had taken the time to give her a heads-up about the Ministry going to Harry's hospital room but there really wasn't a whole lot of time to think about it as she quickly changed clothes with an attire spell and Apparated to St. Mungo's. The interrogation team, with Percy tailing, was working itself into the lobby. He whispered quietly to a man who walked next to him, with the robes of the Interrogation Squad, magenta with a black badge. 

"Percy Weasley, what is going on here?" Hermione questioned as she got in step with him.

Surprised to see her, he beckoned his partner to continue on. "Hermione, what are you doing here?" he whispered bitingly.

"You found Snape's body. What does Harry have to do with anything? Why are you all rushing to talk to him?"

"We haven't told _anyone _about the body! How-" he asked, flabbergasted, almost offended at the fact that she knew without him _giving _her the information.

"I got the information from a trusted source. Now what does Harry have to do with Snape's death? Why go from Snape's body to Harry?"

"It's Ministry business, Hermione, I can't discuss it."

"Ministry business my foot, Percy Weasley. This is my _husband,_ we're talking about!"

"An investigation is in progress, Hermione. I can't _discuss _it!" he seethed.

"He's my husband. I have a right to be in that hospital room with him when they question him."

"Too bad his actions recently don't correspond to that belief," Percy retorted as they made their way past the MediWitch's station.

"Percy, _please," _she pleaded as they approached Harry's room. As lead, Percy was expected to enter Harry's room first. 

"Sit in the back, don't say a word, don't mention it to anyone in the Ministry or they'll have my head on a platter: they found Harry's identification, his Head Boy's badge and a picture of you by Snape's body. We just don't know how it got there or why Harry hasn't volunteered the information that he knew where Snape's body was when he _knew _we were looking for it." Percy opened the door as he took a breath.

Harry was lying there, looking at the night sky through his window. There was no reaction from behind his glasses as the group walked in: Percy, Hermione, a clerical assistant baring a Quick Quotes Quill and an assistant investigator.

"Hullo there, Harry," Percy started genially, walking to the side of the bed nearest the window, blocking his line of vision when Harry didn't react. "Hermione's here, and some of my co-workers from the Ministry. We wanted to talk to you about something."

Harry snapped his head to Hermione almost immediately and then back to Percy as if he had just realized they were there. He glared at the tall ginger man who was almost like a brother to him. "Don't _patronize _me, Percy," he whispered bitterly. "Why would Aviary Moppleton be _here _if this was just an evening call? For once in your life, don't butter it up. Just say it: you are here to _interrogate _me."

Percy looked shocked for a moment, his jaw moving almost by itself, no sound coming out. 

"Say it with me, Percy. 'Harry, I am here to interrogate you.' Go ahead, honesty can be very liberating. Stop being the diplomat and tell the truth. Go ahead, say it with me. 'Harry, I am here to _interrogate _you.' I _swear _I won't hold it against you," Harry said, staring at Percy so hard it was as if he were trying to bore a hole through his skull.

"H-Harry, I-w-we are here to ask you some questions… umm… interrogate you," he stuttered, the most unprofessional he had ever sounded.

Harry continued to look out the window. "I take it you found Snape's body, then?"

"You knew he was dead," Moppleton contributed. More of a statement than a question.

"Everyone knew _I _was dead, but look at me. I'm here at St. Mungo's, alive and kicking. The truth of the matter is that sometimes people are wrong."

"You _knew _he was dead," Moppleton repeated. 

Harry eyed Moppleton. "Yeah, I knew he was dead. All of wizarding England _knows _he's dead."

"We found some of your things by the body."

"A picture of Hermione, a Head Boy's badge and my credentials in the cavern hidden behind the wall underneath the Northwest pasture, correct?" he asked, monotone, never breaking eye contact with Moppleton.

"Wh-why, when you knew we were searching for something about Snape – _anything – _wh-why didn't you tell us where the body was?" 

Harry shifted his glare back to Percy, never once meeting his wife's gaze. "Why didn't you say anything about it? Ron brought it up, I brought it up, everyone was looking! If you knew… I mean, Remus…" The tears slinked down her face as she tried desperately to understand, to level with her husband. He _knew _and he didn't _say _anything?

Moppleton jumped in again, looking through his notes. "You know where the body was found. H-how?"

Harry moved his stare to Hermione as she sat in the chair, tears falling down her face.

"How did I know where to find the body? Of course I'd know where to find the body…" He penetrated her with his eyes, the same he did when they made love with the light on, as if he could see the mousy scared little girl that hid within her mind.

"And why would you know?" Percy tried again.

Harry laughed brokenly. "I killed him."


	10. no love to hold

_"The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you,_

_And it feels so good to hurt so bad,_

_And suffer just enough to sing the blues."_

Elton John, "Sad Songs (Say So Much)"

_"I killed him."_

The only sound in that room after Harry's announcement was Hermione's subsequent rush of tears and her wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. Percy stood there, stunned, but reacted to Hermione with a quick, "Aviary, come and see to her." Aviary's son, Topiary, and daughter, Estuary, were asthmatic. As Aviary summoned an inhaler from a hall closet somewhere, Percy watched Harry's non-reaction to his wife.

"Lift her hands over her head," Harry whispered to Aviary as he attempted to administer the inhaler. Harry, strapped to the bed, barely moved an inch. When Aviary didn't do as told, he shouted, "LIFT her hands over head, Moppleton! Push her hair from her face, push her head back. Moppleton, do it!" Moppleton was lost for a moment as he looked from Percy to Harry, unsure of what to do.

"Do it, Aviary," Percy advised, and as Hermione raised her hands with Moppleton's assistance, her gasps lessened.__

"Shall I go get a doctor?" Mulberry, the clerical assistant, asked, poised by the door, as Hermione regained her breath.

"No need, Stu," Percy responded, eyeing Harry's non-reaction. "Pick up your quill; Mrs. Granger will be just fine." The attention returned to the boy lying on the bed as he stared at his wife, who was red-faced and attempting to even her breathing out. 

"You're okay, Hermione?" Percy questioned, concerned. Hermione nodded with effort, as she continued to fathom out what she had just heard. Had she _misheard? _Her husband? Not _her _husband. She stared at her Harry. _"I killed him," _reverberated within her mind. 

"Did I hear you correctly, earlier, before… In front of all these witnesses – in front of Investigator Moppleton, Mr. Mulberry, your wife and I, did you say that you murdered Professor Severus Snape?" Percy repeated as Mulberry's quill scratched hurriedly somewhere in the background.

Harry looked at Hermione, and they locked eyes for but a second. A part of her still didn't believe it. He saw the hope in her eyes – that she had misheard, that he was lying, that he hadn't said what he'd just said. He took a deep, ragged breath. "I'll repeat it if necessary," he said, almost dripping with frustration. "I murdered Professor Severus Snape in the caverns under Malfoy Manor."

"No, Harry!" Hermione yelled. "You didn't. You're lying. Tell them you're lying. He's lying, Percy, don't believe him."

With almost a sad expression, the most emotion he had shown her in months, tears entered his eyes. "It's the truth. I did it. I remember it, I know I did it."

"Mrs. Granger, if you do not get a hold of yourself, I'll have to ask you to leave," Moppleton interjected, eyeing Harry. Percy nodded as Hermione looked at him pleadingly, then settled herself into her chair.

"What happened, Harry?" Percy questioned, his rumbling voice barely heard by the quill, which stopped for a moment until Mulberry picked it up and manually wrote Percy's words. Harry stared at him, apathetic. "What would bring you to do _that?_ Professor Snape, of all people? He was on _our _side." 

"You're a bright man, Percy. You know how it happened – the Killing Curse. I don't think I need to bore you with the details," Harry contributed. Hermione observed that his voice was the same tone he used throughout Hogwarts whenever he wanted to gloss over a winning Quidditch game.

"Don't get smart with me, Potter. You _killed _a man, by your own admission. The only thing that can keep you alive at this point is _details. _What happened down there in the caverns?"

"I told you I did it, Weasley! What else in the world do you want me to do describe about it? How I took out my wand and pointed it at Snape? Do you want to know about his horror-stricken look? The tone he used to plead with me for his life? How I ignored him? What I felt when I said the words? What the hell do you want to know, Percy? What more can I tell you?" he bellowed, his face becoming red, bits of saliva running out of his mouth. He gave Percy a moment to respond. "Come on, Percy, Moppleton? What do you want to know? What can I do to enlighten you? Do you want to know about how I dream about it every night? Can I describe the green light that I dream about each and every damn night? ASK ME A QUESTION, PERCY. ANY QUESTION. Come on."

The tears were flowing down Hermione's face freely. More than missing her long lost professor, though, she sympathized with her husband. She hated seeing in this pain. 

Percy gritted his teeth. The loss of Snape had hit him hard. "Of all the men in the world, Harry, why – _why – _of your own free will – would you murder Severus Snape of all people?"

"My own free will? My own free FUCKING will? Who said anything about my own free will, my choices? God_damn _it, if I had done it of my own free will, you don't think I would have taken Malfoy or Nott or Crabbe or Goyle first? You think I'd attack one of my own. I murdered him, I murdered Snape, but it was not of my own free will."

"I don't understand," Percy muttered, shaking his head, wringing his hands. 

It clicked with Hermione in an instant. "The Imperius. The Death Eaters. They used the Imperius on him." She watched him intently as his stiff back slumped down and for the first time since he had returned, he lost that complacent look he had been sporting. The distant façade faded as the truth appeared. 

"T-they had us down there: me, Snape, a few others. A few got away, a few were made examples of…" Harry started. In that moment, Dr. Boonyfetter entered, carrying his clipboard as if it were an extension of his arm. 

Percy looked up at the good doctor, before Boonyfetter stopped and registered that there were more people in the room than normal. "I didn't realize, Mr. Weasley-"

"No matter, Dr. Boonyfetter, we'll get you when we're done with Mr. Potter," Percy said gently. 

"If Dr. Boonyfetter would stay, I think he may appreciate what I am about to say," Harry said. Boonyfetter sat down on a chair in the corner.

"Made examples of?" Hermione prodded, moving closer to her husband, taking his hand, but not being forward enough to sit down.

"Toni Wood survived the Conflict at Peckinwood," Harry revealed softly. "And she was down there with me for a bit… before they tired of her. She was always too feisty to break, and they made an example of her. She was spirited even to the end. Kept cursing that these Death Eaters would pay for making her miss Puddlemere United in the finals. 'Locking me up is one thing, starving me is another, but depriving me of _Quidditch?_ If I wasn't going to kill them before, I sure as hell am going to do it now.' It was all we could to keep each other sane – I talked about Hermione, she talked of Oliver and their son Julian." He laughed internally. " Killed her down there right in front of me and Snape." 

"For the sake of clarity, you are referring to Auror Antonia Boonyfetter-Wood, aren't you, Harry?" Percy inquired as Harry nodded. "Let the record reflect that Mr. Potter nodded." 

"They buried her in the loose soil underneath my cavern. I-I… it was more than I could take, knowing that she was underneath the ground that I paced day after day, wh-when I had the strength to move at all. The meals stopped coming after the first week… I guess their house-elves were killed somewhere in battle, or maybe they just wanted to do us in, I don't know." Harry looked at Hermione's hands in his. "It was memories of you, of us, our wedding, our baby, our everything that kept me going at first. I didn't need food, all I needed was you, and then Malfoy started coming down, coming to taunt me and Snape. They'd soundproofed our caverns, you see, but even if we wanted to, we were so far apart, we couldn't really talk. I didn't have my wand with me. I had nothing, no way of getting anything, no way of getting out. I dug for a bit, I kept hitting human bone, and it wasn't Toni's because I knew where her corpse was located, in the far right corner from the man-made wall." 

Percy exchanged a look with Moppleton, who immediately got up and left; no doubt he was dispatching the Coroner's to get Wood's body, along with any others hidden within the caverns.

Hermione shuddered as she thought of her husband, surrounded by nothing but darkness, memories, and bodies, including the corpse of one of his good friends, left with nothing but to contemplate his mistakes and death. It would drive a lesser man insane.

"They dragged me and Snape out after a bit. Snape looked haggard, older, but no worse for wear, really. Remarkably alert for what he'd been through. He hadn't been touched really except for some holes in his clothes, and it had been ages since we'd had contact with _any _human. He saw me and said, 'Potter,' in that way he always did, as if he'd just passed me in the corridors at Hogwarts or something – without the implied malice, though. He didn't smile, I mean, if he ever smiled I think the world may have ended, but his lips curled up in such a way… I'd never seen it before, and I remember that very clearly." 

Hermione smiled involuntarily. The thought of Professor Snape smiling was almost as incomprehensible as her husband murdering anyone because he _wanted _to.

"They were bored, the Death Eaters were. I don't know if they ever had any _intention _of killing me. That would have been too easy. It's Lord Voldemort's style, but not Lucius Malfoy's – and, luckily or unluckily, I'm not quite sure –Voldemort wasn't there. The lot of them were standing there in some kind of larger room – not really a room, more of a larger cave – and Malfoy stood me in front of Snape, handed me my wand, and said 'Kill him.'" Harry laughed caustically. "As if were some kind of everyday occurrence. 'Kill him.' I said no, I wouldn't, and they laughed – the lot of them _chuckled. _He said it again, I said no _again. _He said it would be easier without the Imperius… and I said no. And then he performed the charm, and before I knew what happened, a green bolt escaped my wand and Snape was on the floor." He looked pleadingly at Hermione. "I tried to fight the Imperius, God knows I did, but I couldn't. There were so many of them, all pointing their wands at me, and before I knew it – when I could feel through the pain – I was raising my wand… and I tried to stop them. I couldn't." The tears streamed freely. "I _tried, _damn it, and I couldn't stop them. I _killed _Snape because I didn't have enough willpower to stop them." He finally looked Hermione in the eyes. "Don't you understand why I don't want you to be with me? I can't protect you from the world, I can't even protect you from myself."

Dr. Boonyfetter, frustrated, nervous and emotionally exhausted from the news about his daughter and his own tortured patient, exercised his physician's right to end the interrogation. "He's too drained. If, Mr. Weasley, you and your assistant would call it a day and let Mr. Potter get some sleep, I'd appreciate it. You too, Ms. Granger. Anything you need to say to Mr. Potter can wait until tomorrow – after a good night's rest."

Percy exchanged a look with Stu and they both departed warily, discussing the facts exposed quietly as they walked out the door.

Almost numbly, Hermione followed suit.

**Author's Note: **I am done writing the story. All I have to do is post the last few chapters. Keep an eye out for frequent updates as I am a glutton for reviews and probably won't be able to stick to my goal of one chapter a week – try to chapters a week like this one! Special thanks to galtxtr, who recommended my fic on portkey.org and continues to give me constructive criticism with each chapter I write – but thanks to every reader who reviews or not. It's great that you're reading and appreciating the story. 

If you are coming back for a second read, you'll notice that I made a mistake with a curse used in this chapter. This is a re-post, and I have since corrected the error. Thanks to all who pointed it out.


	11. i must have been dreaming

_"And the night drags on, and the fever burns,_

_Come to your senses, everybody learns,_

_You sleep in the sweet fire, lost and blue,_

_You're an empty doll in the power of a fool."_

_                Elton John, "Sleeping With the Enemy"_

A little boy had his arms wrapped around the neck of his father, standing in front of a closed, pine wood box holding the remains of his mother. As the little brown-haired boy sobbed into the large neck of the brawny man who held him, the man whispered words of comfort to the best of his ability. 

And overcome with emotion, he was having a hard time looking at the son who resembled his mother so greatly.

It was a tough day indeed for the wizarding world. Three caskets lined the front altar of the chapel: one for the dead Auror Antonia Boonyfetter-Wood, mother of one, the type of person who never had a bad word said about her except when Puddlemere United lost a game (and she would spew every four letter word known to man.) The next casket was for a lead on Percy Weasley's Search and Rescue team, Stephen Dimwiddle, whose wife and three children sat, wearing black robes and perhaps a little relieved that there was a body - that there was closure. The other bodies, random parts, mostly, were still being analyzed at Ministry laboratories, waiting on identification. The third casket, of course, belonged to Professor Severus Snape.

Somehow, everyone had _known _that the much-respected Severus Snape was dead, but since there had been no body, there was a silent lingering hope. As the closed casket sat in front of the darkened chapel the hope was gone, replaced with a tinge of sadness. Remus Lupin sat across from the Dimwiddle family, being comforted by Ron Weasley, crying quietly into an old green and black handkerchief with the initials "SS" embroidered onto it.

A somber affair organized by the Ministry of Magic at St. Odious' Chapel in the beautiful Hogsmeade, Dumbledore was officiating the ceremony; it was declared a day of mourning by the Ministry for those who had lost someone in this - the final fight with the followers of Voldemort. His minions were all dead, but the Dark Lord was somewhere, gathering his bearings, and no one - not even Cornelius Fudge - was so obtuse to believe the Dark Lord would never rear his ugly head again in a desperate attempt to takeover that which he believed his. 

Hermione moved towards Oliver and Julian, taking Julian's hand and kissing it, placing back around Oliver's neck. "Thanks for coming, Hermione," Oliver greeted gratefully, attempting to wipe a stray tear while still carrying his robust six-year-old, but finally giving up.

"Toni was a good friend to me and Harry. If there's anything I can do..." Hermione offered, swabbing the liquid quickly from Oliver's cheek.

"I mean, we... me and Julian... we've known that she wa... I mean, we knew that she was g... but knowing th-that she's in..." Oliver's voice broke right as Dr. Boonyfetter came; he passed the boy to the physician without a word as Julian moved his monkey-like clasp from father to grandfather. "J-julian was just getting used to life w-without Toni... and then we find h-her... and it's a g-good thing we have closure... b-but it opened up s-so many w-wounds..." Hermione took Oliver into her arms. "I-I sort of thought... that if there w-was no b-body, she m-might come back..." He buried his head on her shoulder, eyeing the coffin behind Hermione. 

"It's okay, go ahead, just let it out," she soothed.

"J-Julian won't even ride his F-firebolt her. S-she t-taught him to fly... How am I supposed to do this alone w-without you?" he asked, his voice constricted.

Hermione knew that it was a rhetorical question, that he needed no answer, because he wasn't talking to her, to Hermione. He was actually speaking to Toni. 

With a silent "Thank you," Oliver backed away from her and walked towards Julian and his father-in-law as Hermione made her way to Remus and Ron.

Holding Remus close, her head looking over at the Dimwiddle family, Hermione was the first person to see Harry Potter limp in, being supported by two crutches, bruised, his arm in a sling, in his best robes. He had obviously gone home, and Hermione, having been at Remus' for the last three days, had not even noticed She made eye contact with Ron, looked over at Harry, and whispered to Remus, "I'll be right back."

Walking over to her husband, she took in the dark tones of the chapel. Dumbledore had given a navy trimming, as the flowers were flowing on the edges of the pews and at the altar. The banners flew gently, close to the enchanted sealing which reflected the night sky. ("Make sure your tears are for the right purpose, dear girl. This is not mourning deaths, Hermione, it is celebrating lives. Shed tears for their accomplishments, but do not weep for them for they are far luckier lot than we mere witches and wizards," Dumbledore had said softly, when she had greeted him.)

Harry sat in the back, alone, far away from the rest of the crowd. Slowly, people turned around, and whispered to each other. The sound went from condolences to small mutterings, "Is that Harry Potter?" So, this was it. The wizarding world knew Harry was alive - but no one was forward enough to speak to him. 

The bruises shown brightly on his pink face, and as he saw her approach, his face turned away from her, almost ashamed. They had not spoken since that night when he finally told what he had done; when he had finally told the truth. He didn't believe his own innocence; therefore, no one's insistent prodding would help him.

She sat next to him in the back row, smelling the Gilder-Odor he was fond of. "Harry," she said softly, taking his hand.

"Hermione," he responded briskly.

"I love you," she whispered, looking forward at the mourners.

"I'm why Remus is as he is. _Look at him, Hermione," he declared gruffly, staring at his ex-professor and mentor as he rested his head on Ron's large shoulder. "Look at the results of my inability to resist the Imperius."_

"Professor Snape would have been killed, whether by your hand or by someone else's. There were _so _many Death Eaters to overpower you, love. Don't you understand that it's not your fault?" she said in a soft voice, frustration rising in her voice.

He looked at her impatiently. "What am I supposed to do? I don't trust myself. I have no self-control. I _killed _a man."

"You were perfectly willing to take shared custody of the child," she pointed out, remembering last night when she shuffled through some old papers on the dining table. "That implies some faith in yourself."

"It implies nothing!" he snapped. "I knew that I had no chance of getting custody of the child - I'm still in the hospital for goodness sakes! I just wanted the kid to know that I had put up a fight, that I hadn't abandoned him, that there was written proof that I had at least _tried _to be a good father."

"So it was an excuse? You had no intention of being a father to this child." 

A pained expression crossed his face. "After the divorce became final, I wanted return to life as a Muggle. I had no intention of being a father to our child."

She dropped his hand as her other palm went to her midsection, remembering the feeling of _knowing _that their child lived in there. "Damn you, and damn your pride, Harry Potter."

"You can damn everything from here to Kingdom Come, and it won't change the fact that I do not want to continue with this marriage - and I have every intention of following through with that plan."

"I just got you back, Harry. I know you'd never hurt me. It's over, why can't you see that we can go threw anything together? We already _have _been through everything together," she pleaded, resting her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment, contemplating better times when she wasn't debating the merits of her marriage with this man - her _partner._

Harry moved away a few inches away, Hermione's head flopping down. She looked up at him shocked. "When are you going to realize that there is no one better in this world for me than you? We _belong _together. You are my everything. How long do I have to subject myself to rejection before you _get _it?"

He slammed his hand on the wooden pew, the sound echoing lightly, shocking Hermione. None of the other parishioners responded. "You do not negotiate with life, Hermione. When are you going _to understand _that? You are or you aren't. You do or you don't. There's no gray where this marriage is concerned. I _did, _but I don't anymore," he seethed.

"You are my husband, Harry Potter. I love you. Don't you forget that," Hermione reminded him.

"And I will forever be proud that I held your love for a little while," Harry said earnestly.

"I still love you," she sobbed, pounding into his shoulder. "Stop speaking in the past tense, as if it's over. There's nothing _finished _here. This will last forever, damn you."

Harry paused for a moment, as if thinking this over. "'As long as there is love, there is hope.' Professor Dumbledore told me that. I didn't know what he meant until now."

She sighed as she wept slowly into her robes' sleeves. "There is love, Harry, _God _knows, there is love - but should I have hope?" 

He didn't say anything to her, only sighed.

"Where do we go from here? What is there left to do?" she asked. 

"We do what we have to do. We breathe in and out and we live," Harry responded weakly.


	12. i must have been blind

As the music swelled and the crowd looked on, Hermione walked down the aisle bedecked in the most beautiful Muslin white robes with layers. It was a rather fitting combination for her: pieces of her Muggle past and wizarding future. She watched the heads turn, and this time, instead of whispering words of pity, of sympathy, they were talking about _beautiful, _how _ravishing,_ how _lucky _this girl was. This was the same girl who had experienced the highest of the highs and lowest of the lows within a short period a decade earlier. 

She passed by Dr. Boonyfetter who sat in towards the back of the chapel; he nodded slightly, and she was proud to have him there. He was almost a grandfather to her children, and she loved him for being there when she or her husband weren't there. Mrs. Hopkins sat next to Dr. Boonyfetter, dabbing her eyes. Next to her old employer were Anna and Joseph Granger, her parents, her rocks during the firestorm that had occurred years earlier. They had stood by her and supported her, and for that, she would be ever grateful. Next to her parents were Remus and Sirius, whispering about how joyful the occasion was. Remus had finally made his peace with Severus, and would be a happier man for it.

Some ways up was the Weasley family: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with some random grandchild on their knees - probably one of the absent Bill's twins. Beside them was Ron, coyly smiling at Hermione, but touching the long hair of Susan Bones possessively, the girl whom he had recently started seeing. The twins were next to Susan, and they were solemn - for a moment that is, until both Fred and George, almost on cue, started sticking out their tongues and picking their noses in an exaggerated manner. She almost laughed right then and there. Next to the twins sat Draco and Ginny Malfoy who had married just a year earlier, and to everyone's complete surprise, had survived the first year of marriage with enough energy to conceive a child. And next to them sat Percy and Parvati Patil Weasley with their youngster in the middle of them. 

In a row right in front of that odd couple was another, even _stranger _pairing, that had withstood the test of time. A couple of the most unlikely sort: Neville and Pansy Longbottom, squeezing each others' hands, no doubt glorying in Hermione's day, but also remembering their own wedding day years before. On either side of them were Hermione's godchildren, Frankie, looking as bored as humanly possible, yawning, and Trevor, with his father's stoutness and his mother's angelic features, looking almost excited as the three little people in front of him.

Hermione looked forward and made eye contact with him, her husband, her soul. Tall, incredibly handsome with his dark hair and deep eyes. Her unexpected discovery in a sea of emotion. It had been an excruciatingly long path for each of them, but in time, they committed to each other. There had been so many things keeping them separate, so many different obstacles that needed to overcome, and they had done it. _Together. _She loved him. The thought of him alighted her soul, gave her vision when she thought herself blinded by doubt. He was the father of her three children, her _soulmate, _her everything.

She approached the altar, almost as nervous as she was at their first wedding. The music stopped and she stood there for a moment next to her beloved. She could barely believe that they were a decade into their marriage. It seemed like just yesterday they had come together in marriage. He stared at her for a moment, disbelieving that she would be willing to renew their vows. Disbelieving that this angel would want to commit to him _again_. 

The clergyman cleared his throat as the congregation settled into their seats. "We are gathered her today to renew the vows made long ago by this man and this woman..." He went on a bit about the sanctity of marriage, sniffles from the congregation entered her ears, but all Hermione could focus on was this man in front of her who had completed her life long before she even knew it was possible. "And now for the part that you have all been waiting for... the vows. Do you, Hermione Granger, reaffirm the commitment you made to your husband, Oliver Wood, some ten years ago?" he asked.

Hermione looked up at her husband, lean and masculine, tears creeping into each of their eyes, and took him in for a moment. Something was missing as they stood up there, making another vow to be together forever. She eyed her babies in the front row next to her parents and Dr. Boonyfetter, and then looked questioningly at the clergyman. "If I could bring my three children up for the vows, I would love it." At that, five-year-old Olivia Berit, three-year-old Antonia Elizabeth and teenaged, all-around great kid wrangler Julian Anthony rushed up. Ollie and Annie stood in front at the side of Mummy, while Julian hugged his mum and took a spot near Dad, who ruffled his hair.

The minister stopped for a moment. "Let's try this again," he laughed. "Do you, Hermione Granger, reaffirm the commitment you made to your husband, Oliver Wood, ten years ago, to stand by him in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, 'til death do you part?"

"Of course I do," she whispered, full of emotion.

"Go, Mummy!" shouted Ollie from the side of her as Hermione's eyes misted up so badly she couldn't see her husband standing not a foot in front of her.

"And do you, Oliver Wood, reaffirm your commitment to your wife, Hermione Granger, to stand by her in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, 'till death do you part?"

Oliver released Hermione's hand for a moment as he wiped a tear from his eye. "I reaffirm my commitment to her - but only for another thousand years. After that, we'll see," he joked, and the congregation laughed as Ollie mouthed to Julian standing across from her, hands on hips, "But what happens _after _a thousand years?!" 

Nobody saw Harry enter the back of the church, and it didn't matter really. He saw Hermione smiling, surrounded by her children with Oliver - the children that might have been his had he been selfish, had he been normal, had he been strong enough to keep her. Even though he wasn't invited, he knew she wouldn't mind him being there. She laughed as she kissed Oliver's boy; Oliver's hand was tied possessively around her waist as he hugged his older daughter and called out, "Annie! Come here, princess!" to the girl who danced in front of the rest of the family. The toddler looked remarkably like what Harry thought his child with Hermione may have looked like - light brown curls that cascaded over her dark blue robes, reminding him very much of her mother. 

It was in that moment that he knew he had made the right decision in releasing her; all the doubt he had held for years living in seclusion left him. Oliver was emotionally available - he was more a partner than Harry ever could have been. Harry hadn't given Hermione to Oliver - he was surprised as the rest of the world when Hermione started seeing the widower some three years after their divorce - but it was better this way:

Oliver had given her a _life_ that the demons in his past would never allow him to give her. 

When Harry walked out the large wooden doors of the chapel, no one was the wiser, except for Hermione, who knew he would show, who knew him better than he knew himself. It was hard to miss the unruly hair in the glistening sunlight - one of the staple memories of her first husband. As Anna Granger snapped photo after photo, she hugged her family in front of the altar and she silently thanked Harry.

After being drained of everything humanly possible, freedom was the one thing he had left to give her.

And the one thing for which she would be forever grateful.

~FIN~

**Author's Note: **

SnapeJuice ducks the tomatoes being thrown at her by the Pumpkin Pie eaters from her place on deck the Good Ship R/H

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR STICKING BY ME AND ENCOURAGING ME TO FINISH THIS STORY!

So that's it. 

I hope you liked it.

It took me way too long, but I finished it!

As a devout, devout, _devout _Hermione/Ron shipper, Harry and Hermione were never going to end up together. Yay! And so I have finally revealed my secret: happy endings don't exist for Harry and Hermione. 

Not in my story, thank you - and considering that I'd already made Ron "the mayor of the Friend Zone" (in the esteemed Joey Tribbiani's words from _Friends)_ I couldn't logically allow him to marry Hermione - and I liked the idea of a widower like Oliver finally getting a piece of happiness after the death of his wife, Toni. 

I _know _Isa will love the ending because she would rather have Hermione end up with the Giant Squid before she'll be Mrs. Harry Potter forever and ever amen. I hope I did you proud, darling.

If you were intrigued by the Neville/Pansy pairing in this story, I have a work-in-progress (5 chapters) featuring everyone's favorite bumbling Gryffindor and hot-headed Slytherin. It is a spin-off of the Neville/Pansy featured in this story, as Pansy attempts to deal with teenage motherhood, a klutz for a husband, Frankie, Trevor and toads. If you like humor mixed in with a little drama, then you may like "Of the Unlikely Sort." Just click on my profile above.

I am debating a sequel at this point. If you might be interested in seeing one, tell me so in your review. 

Scream at me, yell at me, tell me this story was crap. Go on!


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